


||Rings of The Kings||

by orphan_account



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Age Difference, Begging, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Fingering, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, give my mobster daddy love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nucky Thompson's cigarette twitched as he tightened his lips around it. The ash fell and hit the carpet, the ember dying mid-fall. A smile spread across his face and he folded his hand neatly over his watch, one finger dropping along the gold at a time. He sat in his chair, a few feet from his desk. You leaned against the desk, you held a glass in your hand, casually swirling liquor. His rings made the softest noise in the distant euphony of the city. He had a wicked look in his eye, and it made your heart sink in fear, and your core tightened in excitement."Well, sweetheart, you did tell me you wanted to see what a man my age can do, right?"





	

Nucky Thompson's cigarette twitched as he tightened his lips around it. The ash fell and hit the carpet, the ember dying mid-fall. A smile spread across his face and he folded his hand neatly over his watch, one finger dropping along the gold at a time. He sat in his chair, a few feet from his desk. You leaned against the desk, you held a glass in your hand, casually swirling liquor. His rings made the softest noise in the distant euphony of the city. He had a wicked look in his eye, and it made your heart sink in fear, and your core tightened in excitement.

"Well, sweetheart, you did tell me you wanted to see what a man my age can do, right?" he shrugged his shoulders back, his neck rolling smoothly. His eyes bore directly into yours.

You chose to play it safe, "Of course, sir."

He stood up, pushing himself out of his chair, "Ya know what I think? I think you're too young to handle what I can give you."

You licked your lips, letting the lingering taste of alcohol coat your mouth. You had found yourself in Atlantic City upon chance, on a weekend trip with a few of your girlfriends who worked at Georgetown University with you. Your longtime housemate, Tweety (Theodora was her real name, but everyone called her Tweety), had visited her family in New York and recently connected with a cousin with so-called "connections." You were fresh meat for the more sultry characters of The Boardwalk. You had no intention of drinking during this trip, but somehow you found yourself drawn to the bountiful liquor around you.

So you and Tweety stumbled into the back alleys of the club, away from the rest of your posse. Tweety coughed up her stomach and leaned against the wall, a giggling mess. Meanwhile you found yourself drawn to a lone stranger, one smoking a cigarette with a peculiar scent.

"C-Can I...?" You tripped over your own feet and bent over, laughing at your instability. The stranger gave you a look. It was a look of pride, as if you reminded him how proud he was to be the most powerful son of a bitch in the county. You composed yourself and smiled, "M-Mind if I take a drag, stranger?"

He cracked a smile, "Go ahead kid. If you can take it."

You reached up and plucked the cigarette. Except this one was hand-rolled, and smelled sour. Whatever it was, it wasn't tobacco. You took a hit and gagged immediately, your head spiraling out of control.

He laughed, "Take it easy. It'll be strange at first but it'll make ya feel good in a minute."

You breathed in, calming your heaving chest. You closed your eyes and felt yourself swaying. Two sturdy hands guided you to the cool, damp wall, followed by a hum of amusement. The streetlights caught his face, and you could tell he was much older, despite your vision refusing to focus. Black dots spread across your eyes.

"Breathe," he instructed. You did, holding on to his suede jacket. It laid neatly pressed under his wool coat, and it was nice to have some shelter from the wind blowing off the Atlantic. His silver chain whipped against your arms and made you hiss. He pressed his body more towards the wall, seeing how awfully cold you were.

You eyed over at Tweety, who silently recovered over by the wall. You and her have done this before, and knew she didn't like an audience for her depravity. Instead she eyed you and gave a slight smirk, a look of approval at the site of your company. Though perhaps she could not see the details in his face, and recognized that he was several decades older than you.

"I never smoke these," he said, bringing your attention back to him. He loomed over you, providing a reasonable obstacle against the young night's gales.

You asked what you were smoking and he smiled.

"Cannabis," he said, and then, once he saw the confused expression that donned you face, clarified, "Marijuana. It's what the prohibitionists are calling it nowadays."

"Ah, prohibitionists. Just more people trying to tell other people what to do," you laughed.

"Prohibition is everything America was built against," the stranger agreed. "We were founded on the very principle of freedom, and these, and pardon my language here, cocksuckers are trying to tear it all down."

You laughed, taking a more careful hit off the spliff. You finally had time to study his features: sunken eyes that reflected the trials of his years; gaunt cheeks; hair neatly parted.

"I didn't catch your name," he said, eyes looking you up and down. He relaxed, making it obvious that he was as interested in you, as you were in him.

"Just another tourist, looking for a good time," you sighed, zealously batting your eyes.

"And have you found it?" he hummed.

"Well, I'm trying," you said, smiling. "Only so many pretty boys a girl can turn down before people start looking at ya funny."

"And is there something wrong with pretty boys?" he cocked his head charismatically.

"Of course not," you found yourself behaving a bit off than the typical aloofness you exuded. "Just...."

The stranger waited patiently. You looked up at him and put your lips against the cigarette and said through the smoke, "They lack experience."

He dropped his hands from you. Not in repulsion, but to reach into his pocket and pull out a card. You grabbed it between your two first fingers. A perfectly calligraphed "E.M.T." donned the front, and "Enoch Malachi Thompson: Atlantic County Treasurer."

You smiled, "This supposed to impress me?"

Enoch Thompson smiled back and said, "I was hoping it'd seduce you."

"'Don't hear the name Enoch much anymore."

"As we shouldn't," he chimed. His hand explored the small distance between you two. His hand traced your hip and said, "Call me Nucky."

The violent hacking of Tweety's vomit cut through the air like a knife. A few voices stuck out as the back alley door swung open. You recognized their voices as your company, and frowned at the intrusion.

"__________! You left Tweety fend for herself?" cried Vicky Marie.

"I'm alright ladies," she grinned at your friends. "_________ might finally loosen up tonight."

"Stay safe!"

"Don't let yourself be cheap!"

The clique giggled and parted ways, pushing back into the club. You rubbed your face, cheeks hot. Nucky lit another strange cigarette, seeing as you had confiscated his, and said, "So you prefer the company of ugly old men, is that right?"

"The uglier, the better," you winked.

"Would you care to join me then?" he said, holding out his arm.

You took it, and followed him back to his residence.

So here you were, back pressed against the edge of the desk. Nucky chuckled, only inches from you. The faint aroma of his cologne made your nostrils ache, and his breath was so thick with scotch, you could almost feel the burn in the back of your throat. One hand reached up and firmly held your face, while the other one wrapped around your waist. Nucky's hands were bony, but strong. His nails were well kept, practically manicured.

His breath hit your face, warm and wet. The hand on your face slipped along jaw, his thumb grazed your lips. He pushed into your mouth, and you let your tongue cushion his intrusion. He pulled his thumb out of your mouth and found new interest in making you suck on his fingers. His gold rings slid along his lubed fingers, the coolness of them surprising your tongue. You looked up at him, teeth grazing along his knuckles. He swore softly under his breath.

He removed his hand and pulled up your skirt. You felt his hands simultaneously lifting you on the surface and pulling down your undergarments. Whatever paperwork you were sitting on was bound to be ruined. You shivered at the feeling of air hitting your moist cunt. Nucky's wet fingers clenched your thigh, his mouth near yours. You whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

His fingers crawled up your thigh, looking for a place to hide. He smirked, "Call me Daddy, sweetheart."

"Thought you wanted me to call you Nucky," you said cheekily.

He rubbed your slit, spreading the wetness from your core to your clit, which flinched at the touch of his fingers. He smirked, "But you'll sound much cuter if you say it."

You inhaled at his prodding of your opening. Nucky turned his head to the side and said, "Besides, only my girl gets the full service."

You could feel yourself salivating, ready to be fucked like never before, "Of course, Daddy...."

Soon one finger pushed it's way into you. Your insides tightened around it, barely allowing his appendage to move. You bit your lip and help desperately onto his jacket as he curled the digit inside you. You arched your back, giving his mouth full access to your neck. He peppered you with kisses, leaving a trail of branding across your neck.

But he wasn't going deep enough, fast enough, and he definitely was not allowing himself to fill you completely. Instead he just tortured you with shallow, unfulfilling movements. So you resorted to begging.

"Please," you gasped. You bucked into his hand, "Pl-Please...."

"Please what, dollface?"

"Please Daddy, don't tease me...."

A beat, and then another finger stretched you, pumping your heat. You let out low, genuine moans of pleasure. He worked your throbbing hole, rubbing his thumb expertly against your clit. Your head was pulsing from the cigarette, and now you were finding yourself hooked on this high.

"You're doing so well.... Looks like you found your purpose, baby girl," Nucky said huskily. "Do you want me to take care of you?"

You ground into his slowing hand, "Yes sir...."

"Wanna become my own personal toy?" he grinned. "Or do you want me to be your pimp? And let the boys have at you?"

"I want to be whichever you want me to b-be," you gasped. "I want.... you to use me, Daddy.... Oh fuck...."

"________, sweetie," he whispered in your ear. Enoch was mesmerized by your insides, which seemed to constrict the flow of blood to his fingers. He wanted to use your fresh, supple cunt the way it was meant to be used. Nucky admired your hips, your breasts, and your skin. Glowing with youth, ready to be corrupted by his filthy hands. "I'm gonna rip you apart little girl...."

He pulled his fingers out of you, pulling open his trousers. You gripped him, anticipating his entrance. His swollen head pushed into your lips, parting them. His hot cock slowly made it's home in your cunt. Your mind began to fog at the feeling of your muscles involuntarily trying to squeeze the seed out of Nucky. He hissed, enthralled by your tightness. His hips began to move, pulling out of the vice grip you had on him.

You buried your face into his shoulder, eyes flashing stars. You met his hips with your own movements, wanting to participate as well. Nucky reached up, one hand fondling your tit and the other gripping your ass. You let out nearly no sound as he pounded into you, picking up to a devilish pace.

Both of you were reduced to wordless exchanges of hot, heavy groans. You dugs your face into his collar, the source of his cologne and breathed it in. It smelled like it was brewed from mint, sugar, and motor oil and made you feel a vague warmth radiate onto your skin. You felt him growing harder inside you, near the end. The feel of him has changed from the man you so idly chatted with. This was a man, not of public service, but of strive, ambition, and -possibly- corruption. You toyed with the last idea, the feeling of fucking a bad man could easily overcome any lack of skill one could have.

But in reality, you felt it was safe to conclude that despite his appearance at first glance, Enoch was undoubtedly the most skilled person you have slept with. He managed to do things to make your mind scatter. A constant, overwhelming sensation. You were at first unsure when he began to knead and fondle your ass, and then almost frightened as he prodded lightly at your asshole. He wanted to push your boundaries, and you knew in your heart he had done all there was to try and more.

And that really turned you on.

Nucky responded to your sudden rush of enthusiasm, catching your mouth with his. He slipped his hands up to your face, while yours traveled down to his sides. His right hand wrapped around your throat, his left held your face with the combined intent of firm affection with underlying malice. His thumb traveled to your lips and he held it there, teasing your lips. His desperation was made clear as his pace grew to be almost too much, and as he encouraged you on, "Come on, baby.... Show me what that perfect cunt of yours does when you cum...."

It was all too much for you. Enoch Thompson gripped your hips with furious need and a rush of purpose. He left nothing to be desired as he made his final grinds. Your body flashed cold and then hot. Your mind rushed, hips grinding automatically, and you pulled your legs around him, giving him the ability to fully sheath himself when he came. You held onto him, his breath hot against your lips.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," his hair fell over into his face as he gave you one more kiss before expelling his seed inside you.

You fell back, sitting more upright. Nucky pulled out of you, tucking himself back into his pants, his pocket chains rattling together. Enoch sat back down into the chair, and guided you into his lap. You straddled him and he reached for an abandoned cigar from earlier that morning. You pushed your forehead against his chest, enjoying the afterglow.

"Care for a drink?"

"I'd prefer a nap," you hummed, your hands exploring the terrain under his shirt.

He laughed, "I wouldn't mind one either."

You stroked his chest absentmindedly, and he reached into his back pocket, "Here let me...."

You looked up at him, and immediately pulled away, "Money? Are you serious?"

He smirked, "Well, I was hoping I could cover the cost for another ticket to Atlantic City. Unless, of course, you want me to visit you."

You were flattered, and still felt slightly used. Like a prostitute, but one of those fancy prostitutes. You tugged softly on his shirt, "Well.... How about you just give me a ride back?"

Enoch cupped your face, "Sure, where ya live, sweetheart?"

"Georgetown," you said, and watched in amusement as a look of dread passed over his face. "If we leave now we might make it before 7 in the morning."

He held your hips, "Or.... And, this is just a thought, you could spend the night here. I'll send a message to your friends, and we could pass the time...."

You bit your lip and slipped your legs between his. Lowering yourself to the floor, you placed your hands on his thighs. Enoch watched eagerly, completely absorbed in the sight. You grabbed the still stiff cock through his slacks. You rubbed it, slowly, just like he had done to you. He gave you a smug look, sucking on the cigar, "What do you think you're doing, little honey?"

"Passing time."


End file.
